Right Here, Right Now
by sophiedoodle
Summary: Same basic story-but I have reformatted it into one chapter and done some editing. A companion story to "For Better or Worse." Kathryn's response to the news about the Maquis after "Hunters."


Reprise, Part One: Right Here, Right Now

Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager, its characters, etc. are owned by Paramount.

_Author's Note: I am working on companion stories to "For Better or Worse" that will show the continuing ramifications on the crew of the episode "Hunters" (when they received their first letters from home). _

Kathryn Janeway couldn't sleep. That phenomenon in itself wasn't uncommon—it just happened to be one of those nights that all she really wanted was the opportunity to shed the events of the day for those few beautiful, blissful hours of complete unconsciousness. To be frank, she no longer wanted to _think._

Finally, irritated with herself and fed up with tossing and turning, she vaulted from the tangled covers of her bed and shrugged back into her uniform. She paused to smooth her hair in the mirror and then strode briskly through the corridors of the ship. Once in her Ready Room, she ordered a large cup of coffee which she carried over to the couch along with a stack of PADDs.

The day had been a long one. An emotional one. A day of hope and fear and crushing disappointment all rolled into what seemed like a scant few hours. There had been her own letter from Mark to deal with and then the battle with the Hirogen and then Neelix's party. She had barely had time to grab a cup of coffee, much less read any of the reports that had come in from various departments. She perused the contents of the PADDs, her mind too unsettled, too uneasy, to concentrate on most of the trivialities that would be painstakingly detailed, especially those from Tuvok and Seven of Nine.

The last PADD in the stack, however, was from Chakotay, and it was not a report; rather, it was a letter from someone named Sveta that Chakotay had forwarded to her. She looked doubtfully at the PADD. She wasn't quite sure why Chakotay wanted her to read his personal mail, but with a sigh she glanced at the first sentence of the message.

And froze.

Understanding spilled over her in an icy cascade, and she felt a million tiny fists clenching inside, squeezing her heart and lungs and stomach until it seemed as if they would be crushed by the weight of the space around them.

The Maquis. Gone.

She supposed that as a loyal Starfleet Captain her first thought perhaps should have been the possible ramifications of this revelation for life on Voyager—a stirring of the old unrest, the reopening of wounds long-healed, the eliciting of resentment that had been buried in mutual respect and interdependence. Perhaps those should have been her first considerations.

But they weren't. Her first thoughts were for her friends, and before she had even finished the final sentence of Sveta's message, she was standing outside the door to Chakotay's quarters, using her security code to override the lock when he didn't respond to her hail immediately.

The living area was shadowed, the only light filtering through the viewport that half-filled one side of the room. The darkness flickered as the stars streamed by. She peered through the gloom, not seeing any sign of him.

"Chakotay?" she called out. There was no response, and she headed toward his bedroom. She spoke his name again, trying to bury the panic that was leaking into her voice. "Chakotay?" Then she heard it, a small noise almost directly in front of her. Her eyes focused through the darkness and finally discerned the broad form standing in the doorway.

"Kathryn? Is everything okay?" Chakotay's voice was quiet and heartbreakingly tender. He reached out towards the wall and the room was instantly bathed in a soft illumination.

"Oh, Chakotay," she murmured, her voice almost breaking. He stared at her. His hair was tousled, strands brushing his forehead. He was dressed only in loose sleep shorts, and Kathryn caught her breath.

"Kathryn?" he said again, and his voice was puzzled. He stepped closer. Then she could clearly see his eyes, and every other random thought fled. They were pure darkness. Not the depth and nuance that usually windowed a man who was much the same; but the blackest of night, the deepness of despair. A wrenching travesty of the man who brought so much peace and comfort to others through his innate gentleness. She felt her throat begin to ache.

"I read the letter. The one from Sveta," she managed to say. Chakotay's breath quickened, his chest rising and falling in rapid rhythm. He nodded, and they stood looking at each other for several silent moments. Then Chakotay turned towards his bedroom.

"Come on in," he said softly, and she followed.

Chakotay's bedroom was dark, but neither of them made the effort to turn on the lights. Chakotay hunched on one side of the bed, his elbows resting on his thighs, and Kathryn sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him. She watched him, hoping for a sign that would tell her how to proceed, that would let her know what he needed. She reached out and took his hands in hers, scooting closer to the bed. He was trembling.

"Talk to me," she said simply. He raised his head to look at her, and she almost gasped at the agony on his face.

"I don't know what to do," he said. His eyes were beseeching hers, seeming to beg forgiveness for some atrocity that hadn't even been committed.

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his face.

"I haven't been this close to losing control in _years_." His voice was uneven, his eyes shimmering with the barest beginnings of tears. Kathryn pressed his hands more tightly within hers.

"You know," she said carefully. "It's okay to be upset about this. It's okay to feel grief. And it's okay to be angry." But he was shaking his head.

"I feel like I'm back where I started. You don't know who I was back then. That man was very different from the one sitting in front of you. That man knew nothing about life, about living. All he could feel was anger and resentment. He focused on everything that was wrong and appreciated nothing that was right with his life. And then the Cardassians came, and finally he had a real _reason_ for all of that rage." Chakotay roughly wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. He was silent for a minute then continued.

"I'm afraid to be that angry again. But I feel powerless to stop it. History has repeated itself, and once again I'm the one left holding the destruction in my hands." He stood and began to pace anxiously. Kathryn remained seated on the floor, watching him quietly, tears spilling from her own eyes at his anguished words.

"Yes," she said softly. "But this doesn't have to be like last time. I trust you, Chakotay. And you need to trust yourself to get through this." Chakotay turned and stared at her.

"You don't understand," he said, and there was anger in his voice.

"Then help me to," she pleaded. He heaved a sigh, and then returned to sit in front of her on the floor. His hands twisted restlessly, offering mute testimony of the turmoil within his heart. Kathryn reached out to cease the helpless movements, threading her fingers through his tightly. He offered a sad smile.

"It's like there's a flame inside of me, Kathryn. When I was younger, it was more like a forest fire. I resented my father for clinging to the old ways of my people, I felt suffocated by the traditions of our tribe. All I wanted was to get out, to leave, to find somewhere to go that would quench the heat that constantly tortured my soul. I didn't belong there, and I knew it. I thought that maybe Starfleet was the answer. I thought that maybe if I went far enough away, I could escape the grasp of those feelings. But I didn't. I found that I could ignore them more easily, but the slightest hint of the old pain was like a torch to the blaze. I've told you before that I couldn't find peace, no matter what I did. Leaving my people only gave me a moment's respite, and that was all. Nothing I did lasted. Nothing smothered the flames. And then the Federation signed the treaty with the Cardassians." He fought for composure, squeezing his eyes shut against the barrage of memories.

"At first I thought my people were crazy, that their refusal to leave was just another piece of evidence of their blind stubbornness in their faith and traditions. But then the Cardassians began attacking the colonists of those worlds where the people refused to leave, and I realized that it was much more than that. It was their home, it was their choice, and someone else had tried to take that away from them. It wasn't right. And I began to question all that I had come to believe. I began to question my life, Starfleet, what I was doing. The flame started to grow again, a constant burning within me."

He broke off, yanking his hands out of hers and burying his face in them. His breath was ragged.

"And then the Cardassians destroyed your home," Kathryn said in an almost-whisper.

"Yes," he said. "And I wasn't there. They died without me. My father died thinking I hated him, hated our tribe and everything he stood for." His words were muffled through his fingers.

"But you didn't," she said firmly. "He knew that."

Chakotay lifted his head. "He knows now. We've talked many times through the vision quest. We're closer now than…" He shook himself. "As soon as I heard the news, I went home. And there was nothing left. They were gone. All of them." Kathryn caught her breath. He had told her the barebones of the story before but never had he allowed the emotions to spill forth as he was doing now.

"Kathryn," he said, "I didn't protect them. I didn't take care of them when they needed me. I left them to the _mercy _of the Cardassians." He laughed bitterly.

"There was nothing you could have done, Chakotay. They wouldn't leave. You could only have died beside them."

"Maybe I should have," he whispered, averting his head. Kathryn swallowed hard.

"Chakotay," she began hoarsely, but he shook his head, giving his characteristic rueful grin.

"I'm sorry, Kathryn. The news about the Maquis…it brought up all kinds of feelings that I thought I'd long since worked through."

"They're no more than a reminder," she murmured, "of how far you've come, of who you've become since then."

"But I don't know if they're enough to get me through this," he said, and his dark eyes were haunted by a million memories that she couldn't even begin to understand. "I don't know if they're enough to help me _remember._" He dragged his hands down his face.

"Tell me about the Maquis," she said softly, her eyes searching his.

"After I saw what the Cardassians had done, what Starfleet had _allowed_ them to do, I was finished. I resigned my commission, and as soon as I heard about the Maquis, I was ready to join. That flame was a wildfire then, Kathryn, and all that was on my mind was vengeance. And guilt. Guilt that I had let the Cardassians destroy my family, guilt that I had abandoned them years before, even before I left for Starfleet. I wanted to fight the battle they had lost. I wanted to make right everything that I had done wrong. For the first time, all I wanted was to be a part of them." His hand strayed to his forehead, lightly touching the design that stretched across his temple. "That's when I got this. The symbol of my people. My father." Kathryn instinctively reached out and traced the intricate marking, her fingers moving whisper-soft against his face. He drew in a sharp breath, then captured her hand in his, pressing his lips softly to her palm before bringing it down to rest in his lap. Kathryn swallowed hard.

"It's beautiful," she said quietly, and he looked down, tears gathering in his eyes.

"I thought that joining the Maquis would be the answer, " he continued, still not looking at her. "That maybe the fire would eventually be extinguished. I began going on vision quests regularly, consulting my spirit guide, doing everything I had ever been taught but had never before believed. It helped. But it took more than that. It took…it took you."

"Chakotay." She was crying now and not bothering to hide it.

"I thought the battle was finally over. I thought I had laid all those demons to rest." His lips trembled. "And then I got the letter from Sveta." Kathryn closed her eyes against the anguish in his voice.

"The Cardassians won. _Again_." His voice was hard.

"That wasn't what I'd call a victory, Chakotay," Kathryn said, her eyes flashing.

"No," he conceded, looking down. "But they got what they wanted."

"And what do _you_ want?" she asked softly, cupping his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her.

"I want…" He paused, and tears began to slide down his cheeks. "I want to not have _failed_ my people _again_."

"You haven't failed anyone," she returned fiercely.

"I should have been there!" He was yelling now.

"Why?" she countered. "So you could have died right alongside them?"

"Yes," he said in a defeated voice.

"They were doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing," she snapped. "And so are you. On Voyager. Right here, right now."

He lifted his stricken face to hers, searching her eyes in a desperate need to believe what she was saying.

"You're always talking about finding the good in everything that happens, Chakotay. About accepting where life leads. Or does that only apply to everyone else?" Chakotay struggled visibly with himself for a moment then seemed to surrender.

"No," he answered softly.

"I don't know what would have happened if you'd been with the Maquis back in the Alpha Quadrant. But I do know that I can't imagine what life would be like if you weren't on Voyager. For all of us."

"Kathryn," he said, shaking his head and turning away.

"I don't think you quite realize the impact you have on people, Chakotay."

"Kathryn-" he began again, his eyes fierce upon her now.

"I know how you've changed me," she whispered. "And I've seen you change the lives of so many others."

"You don't-"

"Should I name them?" she interrupted.

"Kathryn-" His fists were clenched, his breathing rapid.

"Let's start with B'Elanna, Chakotay. Where do you think she would be right now if you hadn't-"

"Kathryn!" He had raised his voice in warning.

"And that young Kazon boy who-" she continued, undaunted.

"That's enough," he shouted, his hands gripping her shoulders.

"Why?" Kathryn was yelling now, too. "Because you feel guilty and worthless right now? Those feelings don't change who you are inside, Chakotay! They don't change the good you've done with your life!"

"Because I don't think I can do this again!" His voice was strangled, and he sprang from the bed and stalked across the room, stopping in front of the viewport. He leaned his head against the wall, and she could tell by the shaking of his shoulders that he was crying. She walked over and stood behind him.

"Chakotay, this is a terrible, heartbreaking tragedy."

"They're gone, Kathryn."

"Yes." She stepped closer, feeling the trembling of his body.

"Just like my father. Just like my family."

"Yes." She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his back, and he melted into her.

"I should have been there."

"I know."

"Why, Kathryn, why?" The despair in his voice pierced her heart, and she ached for him.

"Because we all have the right to choose, Chakotay, for good or bad. It's what defines us. Your people chose to stay on their planet. The Cardassians chose to take revenge. The Maquis chose to fight back."

His arms slid down to hers, anchoring her to him, and he was quiet for a moment. "We didn't choose to end up in the Delta Quadrant."

"No," she said softly. "But we choose who we are each and every day. And no one, not even the Cardassians, can take that away from us." He was silent.

"So who do you choose to be, Chakotay? Right here, right now." He began to cry harder.

And then he turned in her arms, and she was hugging him fiercely, wrapping her arms as tightly around him as she could manage. He buried his face in her neck, and she rested her cheek against his hair. She felt a shudder run through his body, heard his breath catch. They stayed in the embrace for a very long time, and then he pulled away slightly, resting his forehead wearily against hers.

"My father's son," he said so softly she almost didn't hear him, and she smiled. She brought her fingers up to his face and stroked his cheek. He held her hand against him, closing his eyes tightly.

"This is what I needed," he said finally, softly. "I forgot how much peace you bring me." Kathryn leaned closer and brushed her lips very lightly across his before she spoke again.

"Chakotay, maybe you should get some sleep," she said gently. "It's been a long day. You must be exhausted." He looked at her for a long moment then nodded. She stepped back, reaching up with trembling fingers to wipe away the stains of his tears.

He lay down, and she carefully arranged his blanket. Then she sat on the edge of the bed, stroking his hair, her other hand lightly traveling up and down his arm. After a few minutes, his eyes closed, and he sighed. She felt the tension that had been so evident in his body begin to dissipate, the clenching of his muscles softening under her ministrations.

"Thank you, Kathryn," he murmured, and she squeezed his hand in response. When his breathing deepened and the last vestiges of pain slipped from his face, she stood. But he reached out and grabbed her hand.

"Stay," he breathed. "Please." She swallowed hard against the sudden, unexpected ache in her throat.

Then she sat back down on the bed, leaning her head against the wall, and held his hand tightly in hers all throughout the night.

The End


End file.
